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dispatched into heaven by a passport from Pleasure, there to dwell with Happiness, Virtue, and the Gods.

V. Sir Roger de Guverley's Fami'y. Haying often received an invitation from my friend

Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied bim thi. ther, and am fetiled with him for some time at bis country-house, where I intend to form several of my en. suing speculations. Sir Roger, who is very well ac, quainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed. when I please, dine at his owo table or in my chamber as I think fit, fit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry When the genieinen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard. the knight defiring them not to let me see thein, for: that I hated to be stared at.

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it confifts of fober and .aid perfons: for as the knight is the best master in the world, he feldom changes his servants; and as he is beloved by all about him, his fervants never care for leaving him; by which means his domestics are all in years, and grow'n old with their mafter. You would take his valet-de-chambre for his brother, his butler is grey-headed, his groom is one of the I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a privy.counsellor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old house dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to his past services, though he has been usclefs for several yearse.

I could not but observe with a.great deal of pleasure, the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at kis countryfeat. Some of them.could not refrain from tears at the fight of their old mafter; every one of then pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the good o!d knight, with a mixture of the father and the inaster of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own af. G 3


fairs with several kind questions relating to themfelves. This humanity and good-nature engages every body te him ; so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself with: on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a ftander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all lis fervants.

My worthy friend has prit me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent nian, and, as well as the rest of his fellow-fervants, wonderfully defirons of pleasing me, because they have often heard their mafter talk of me as of his particular friend..

My chief coinpanion, when Sir Roger is diverting him elf in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man, who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived åt his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversation : he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem ;* so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependant.

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is fomething of an humourist ; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are as it were tinged by a certain extravagance, which inakes them particularly his, and diftinguillies them from those of other men. This cant of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, fo it renders liis conversation highly agreeable, and more de. lightful than the same degree of fenle and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with him last night, he alked me. how I liked the good man whom I have just now mentioned: and, without staying for my ansiver, told me, that he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table ; for which reason he desired a particular friend of his at the university to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good afpeét, a clear voice, a fociable temper; and, if poflible, a man that understood a little of back-gammon. My friend, says Sir Roger, found me out this gentle.


man; who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish ; and because I know his value, have settled upon him-a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years; and though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked any thing of me for himself, though he is every day foliciting me for fomething in behalf of one or other of my tenants his parishioners. There has not been a law.suit in the parish since he has lived among them. If any dispute arifes, they apply themselves to him for the decision : if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his first fettling with me, I made him a present of all the good fermons which have been printed in English ; and only begged of him, that every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one another naturally, and make a continued system of practical divinity.

As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the Knight's asking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told us the Bishop of St Àfaph in the morning, and Dr South in the afternoon. He then showed us his list of preachers for the whole year; where I saw, with a great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, Dr Barrow, Dr Calamy, with several living authors who have published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications ef a good aspect and a clear voice ; for I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the discourses he pronounced, that I think I never palied any time more to my fatisfaction. A fernion repeated after this manner, is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor.

VI. The

VI. The Folly of inconsistent Expectations. THIS 'HIS world may be considered as a great mart of

commeree, where fortune exposes to our view various commodities, riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. Every thing is marked at a fettled price. Our time, our labour, our ingenuity, is so much ready money which we are to lay out to the best advantage. Examiné, compare, choose, reject : but ftand to your own judgment"; and do not, like children, when you have purchased one thing, repine that you do not possess another which you did not purchase. Such is the force of well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will generally insure success. Would you, for instance, be rich! Do you think that single point worth the facrificing every thing else to? You may then be rich. Thou. fands have become so from the lowest beginnings, by toil, and patient diligence, and attention to the minutest af. ticles of expence and profit. But you must give up the pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free unfufpi. cious temper. If you preferve your integrity, it must be a coarse-fpun and vulgar honesty. Thofe high and lofty notions of morals which you brought with you from the schools must be considerably lowered, and mixed with the baser alloy of a jealous and worldly-minded prų. dence. You must learn to do hard, if not unjust things; and, for the nice embarassments of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is necessary for you to get rid of them as fast as pollible. You must shut your heart against the Muses, and be content to feed your understanding with plain household truths. In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your fentiments; but must keep on in one beaten track, with out turning aside either to the right hand or to the left.

“ But'I cannot submit to drudgery. like this I feel a fpirit above it.” 'Tis well :. be above it then; only do not repine that you are not rich.

Is knowledge the pearl of price? That, too, may be purchased-by steady application, and long folitary hours of study and reflection. Bestow these, and you shall be learned. “ But,' says the man of letters, "what a hard,

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flip is it, that many an illiterate fellow, who cannot conIrue the motto of the arms of his coach, Thill raise a for tune and make a figure, while I have little more than the common conveniencies of life! Was it in order to raise a fortune that you confumed the sprightly hours of youth in 1tudy and retirement ? Was it to be rich that you grew pale over the midnight-lamp, and distilled the sweetnets from the Greek and Roman spring ? You have then miltaken your path, and ill employed your induftry. What reward have I then for all my labours?", What reward! A large comprehensive foul, well puro ged from vulgar fears, and perturbations, and prejudices; able to comprehend and interpret the works of man— of God. A rich, flourishing, cultivated mind, pregnant with inexhaustible stores of entertainment and reflection, A perpetual spring of fresh ideas, and the conscious dig. nity of superiour intelligence. Good Heaven ! and what reward can you ask belides?

" But is it not fome reproach upon the economy of Providence, that fuch a one, who is a mean dirty fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to buy half a nation?" Not in the least. He made himself a mean dirty fellow for that very end. He has paid his health, his conscience, his liberty, for it; and will you envy his bar gain? Will you hang your head and blush in his prefence because he outshines you in equipage and show Lift up your brow with a noble confidence, and say to yourself, " I have not these things, it is true; but it is because I have not fought, because I have not desired them; it is because I poffefs something better: I have chosen my lot; I am content and satisfied.”

You are a modest man--you love quiet and indepen. dence, and have a delicacy and reserve in your temper. which renders iť impossible for you to elbow. your way in the world, and be the herald of your own merits. Be content, then, with a modest retirement, with the esteem of your intimate friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate ingenuous fpirit; but resign the splendid ditinctions of the world to those who can bet; ter scramble for them.

The man, whose tender fenfibility of conscience and strict regard to the rules of morality make him scrupul


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